


turbulence

by fan_nerd



Series: body music (reverse au) [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Role Reversal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_nerd/pseuds/fan_nerd
Summary: I messed up.Victor watches Yuuri stalk out of the hotel room with one arm outstretched, as if he could hug Yuuri - his mentor; his lover; his idol - and all of their problems would disappear.Yuuri could get frustrated and tired and impatient, but he's never called Victor out of his name. He’s far too polite for that. The wordidiotrings in Victor’s head like he’s been slapped.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is ash and i love to #suffer ((also lmfao this is my 34th yoi fic and 50th published fic on ao3?? am azin g,, ,))
> 
> welcome back to the reverse au!! ♥ check out [the series description](http://archiveofourown.org/series/620569) for more details for art + fic links regarding this au. feel free to chat w/ me abt stuff on tumblr!
> 
> follow the reverse au tumblr!! [@yoireverse](http://yoireverse.tumblr.com/)  
> follow me (wtk/ash/fic): [@wbtrashking](http://wbtrashking.tumblr.com/)  
> follow em (art): [@narootos](http://narootos.tumblr.com/)

For a week that had started so incredibly well, things have taken a turn for the worse in their hotel room.

Barcelona is a welcoming and warm town. There are historical buildings painted in vivid pastels, gorgeous cathedrals to pass, plenty of main streets filled with places to shop.

Hell, the night before Victor’s SP performance, Yuuri and his student had flashed their rings at a table full of Victor’s rivals. It had embarrassed the older man to no end, to the point that Yuuri had hidden his face in his scarf and blushed up his roots, but Victor could have stripped nude and paraded about the restaurant; that’s how thrilled he is to have a matching set of rings.

Now?

Now, Victor is sitting in his hotel room alone, head full of angry thoughts. He’s been turning over the possibility of his skittish, beautiful coach leaving his side for _months_. Yuuri’s said all along that he’s ready to retire. That he doesn’t feel that he has what it takes to keep competing out there with the young kids, with his eyes downcast and a sheepish smile on his lips. Yuuri’s casual dismissal of Victor’s praises and his avoidance of the subject of a potential return to the ice burn the young Russian like a brand, and now, he has to sit with guilt hot in his throat.

 _I messed up_. Victor watches Yuuri stalk out of the hotel room with one arm outstretched, as if he could hug Yuuri - his mentor; his lover; his idol - and all of their problems would disappear.

Yuuri could get frustrated and tired and impatient, but he had never called Victor out of his name. He’s far too polite for that. The word _idiot_  rings in Victor’s head like he’s been slapped.

Victor tries to sleep. He fidgets with the ring on his finger restlessly, pacing the hotel room floor like a wild animal, blue eyes darting to the dark landscape below.

Barcelona is gorgeous at night, but all Victor can think is that the city feels suffocating.

//

Yuuri goes to a bar. He sits on the stool, pushes his glasses up, and murmurs his thanks in quick, choppy Spanish. The barkeep is a dark-skinned woman with incredibly short hair and she gives him a look before heading off to chat with her other patrons in chirpy English.

As soon as the whiskey hits the back of his throat, he immediately feels himself relaxing. Anxiety screams at the back of his mind like a boiling kettle, but it is a more muted sound with the weight of alcohol in his stomach.

“Victor, retiring?” The younger man is a masterpiece. His hair is regal, his jaw a fine set. Honestly, Yuuri’s still not entirely sure why his student had been so persistent in wooing him, or why _Victor_  isn’t the one with dozens of gold medals to his name. Victor is incredible, and his career is far from over, so long as the Russian man’s legs don’t give out.

Speaking of.

Yuuri groans, massaging his right leg. He’s never told Victor, but he had a somewhat minor strain in his right knee towards the end of the last season. Victor’s a fan, but Yuuri hadn’t even released this information to Celestino, his coach. It’s unlikely that Yuuri’s pupil knows about it, and Yuuri wants to keep it that way.

He locks eyes with the bartender for a moment and requests a new beverage before quickly looking elsewhere. As soon as the first glass is taken away and replaced with a fresh drink, he sighs and is startled to find someone sinking into the empty stool beside him.

“Heya,” Phichit waves, opening the drink menu with a light smile. “Fancy seeing you here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Phichit! You’re drinking on the night before a competition?”

“Nah,” Phichit easily replies, pointing to the coffee-and-tea section of the menu. “I just didn’t feel like staying inside, you know?”

“Yeah,” the older man says, swirling the ice inside of the glass around. “I know.”

Back when Yuuri had been traveling the world for competitions and inspirations, he’d run into Phichit. Phichit is several years his junior and he’s one of the older men still on the circuit at 22, but the two of them had become fast friends in Detroit. Celestino had coached Yuuri and Phichit for three years before Yuuri’s retirement, and both men make an effort to keep up with each other online despite constantly being on the move.

Phichit is no stranger to Yuuri’s panic attacks.

“What’s on your mind, Yuuri?” Phichit blinks his dark eyes at Yuuri with a gentle smile. “You hate drinking before anything important happens.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Yuuri mumbles quietly. “Stop me before I get too drunk, okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yuuri sweeps his eyes around the room, putting a hand to his hair with misty eyes. “Victor, you know,” he chokes on the words as if he’s physically pained to be saying them. “He said something about refusing to keep competing if I didn’t come back. I don’t know what to do.”

“He bargained with you?” Phichit tries to hold down his excitement for Yuuri’s potential return, mostly because his friend seems so torn about it. “Why?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Yuuri snaps, downing more whiskey in a furious gulp. He pushes his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose, uncaring that the other patrons are staring at them. Phichit hurries to calm him down so his friend isn’t yelling. “Stupid idiot! He thinks he’s being all, all... _gallant_  or something, because he looks up to me. Which is dumb, because I’m not. I’m not as great as he _thinks_  I am, and he’s stupid.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit deadpans, giving the Japanese man the most flat look that he can muster, “He was bragging about getting engaged to you less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“That’s the _problem_ ,” Yuuri replies softly, the heat of his breath almost warm enough to fog up his glasses. “We’ve just been. We’ve been so close, and I think he’s forgotten that I can’t be everything he wants. I’m too old now, Phichit. He’s in love with the _idea_  of our romance on the ice, but I’m...” Yuuri flicks his eyes down at the bar, tears falling hot down his cheeks. “I’ll never be that good. Good enough to go until my legs fall off, and it scares me, saying no to Victor.”

“Why do you have to say no?” Phichit’s mouth forms an O around his straw and he tilts his head in curiosity. “You don’t want to come back to competitive skating?”

Honestly, Yuuri hasn’t thought about it.

“I’m too old.”

“Not what I asked you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri folds his hands together, sniffles, and hangs his head, thoughts swirling. _Does he_?

His legs ache and his back hurts. He’s been out on the ice with Victor every day, dancing, skating; _practice, practice, practice._  His knee doesn’t bother him most days. Yuuri lands all of his jumps, keeps up with Victor when they run through the pairs routine that they will unveil at the exhibition in a couple of days. 

He smiles next to Victor, dreams of floating on skates next to his younger lover forever. Dreams of standing on the podium beside Victor, of having a breathless, honest rivalry like he’s never truly experienced. Yuuri’s been battling himself more than his peers, his fear of failure scaring him more than anyone else he’s battled to the top.

 _God_. That dream hurts. Yuuri wipes his red eyes and nose on the back of his sweater, trying to school his sobs so that they don’t become wails.

“Yes,” Yuuri finally says, leaning on his elbows and trying to keep his voice from breaking off as Phichit puts a hand on his back. “Yes, of course I want to, I love skating. I love skating, and I love Victor, but I’d have to choose, and I can’t do that.”

“Why choose between them?” The Thai man reminds him, shrugging lightly, rubbing circles on Yuuri’s back. “You love Victor, Victor loves you, and you both love to skate. He’d love to have you out there. Fighting Victor for the top spot at the podium doesn’t mean that he won’t still be in love with you at the end of the day.”

Yuuri’s head whips to the side so quickly that his glasses are skewed. His face is red from the alcohol, and he breathes out, “ _Huh?”_

Phichit rolls his eyes. “You’re starting to get tipsy, so there’s no point in explaining myself again. Just think about it, Yuuri. Coming out of retirement shouldn’t spell the end of your relationship. Besides, I’d love to compete against you again!”

“You’re just being nice to me because I’m like, your frumpy dad friend.”

“I am being nice to you because you are being totally ridiculous. Being the skippy son friend is an added bonus. Up ya go!” Phichit slaps a handful of euros down for their drinks and tips before slinging the hiccuping Yuuri over his shoulder and heading for Yuuri’s hotel. The two of them walk-stumble to the place, Phichit gets Yuuri back to a fretting Victor and tucks the older man in with a curt nod to the Russian.

Victor settles with making sure Yuuri doesn’t throw up and choke in his sleep until he dozes off himself, anger and frustration still keeping him from getting a full night’s rest.

//

In the couple hours between the exhibition and evening banquet, Victor lies on Yuuri’s chest on the bed and sighs, tangling one hand in Yuuri’s gelled back hair. “That was a stupid fight.”

“Not talking about it,” Yuuri murmurs tiredly, adjusting so that he can wrap one hand around Victor. “Thanks for not dropping me this time.”

“You didn’t drop me either, so the gratitude is mutual.” Victor closes his eyes and threatens to fall asleep to the lull of Yuuri’s quickly pacing heart beating against his chest, where his pulse is equally fast. Victor smiles into Yuuri’s turtleneck. “I’m happy you’re coming back, Yuuri.”

“You’ve only told me twenty times.” Yuuri says, laughing lightly, his breath shallow. He moves a hand up Victor’s back to toy with the end of his fiancé’s ponytail. “I’m happy you’re happy, Victor.”

Victor beams, kissing the underside of Yuuri’s jaw. “I love you!” Yuuri colors and Victor sits up on his elbows, kissing Yuuri’s cheeks a few more times. “I love you, I love you, you’re the best.”

Yuuri swats him off with a big grin. “Stop it.” After a moment, the two of them sigh, taking a long pause to drink each other in, lying face-to-face on the bed. “I love you too,” Yuuri quietly murmurs, interlacing his hands with Victor’s.

“We’re gonna get _married_ ,” Victor sing-songs.

“I will end you,” Yuuri flushes another shade darker, turning away from Victor’s face. “Oh, crap. Did you still want to go in for that piercing appointment? We can always wait until we go back to St. Petersburg.”

“No, let’s go!!” Victor drags Yuuri up and waits for the older man to scramble up from the mattress and kick on his shoes. “I want everyone to see it. Chris is gonna be so salty. That alone makes the appointment worthwhile.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes again, but he trails behind Victor, the two of them hurrying through the streets of Barcelona with soft smiles, holding hands.


End file.
